Sugar Rush
by Alcetore
Summary: When Mikasa gave a dollar to a homeless man, she certainly didn't expect him to call years later with a proposal to be his sugar baby. [Update: now written in past tense]
1. Prologue

**PLEASE READ: This story is now written in past tense.  
**

* * *

Prologue:

* * *

The dreadful age of turning 18 was not transitioning from a naive teenager, to a wise adult, but more of imposing the stay of a current orphanage. No that Mikasa was of legal age, she just regarded things like that a lot.

She sat upright on her small cot, the least desirable one in the entire building because of its demeaning size. She found sleep impossible no matter what position she tossed and turned at night.

The yellowing floral wallpaper that was once white, peeled away, revealing cockroaches of all sizes.

Such conditions were unacceptable, for they told of a bleak future concerning Mikasa. If the staff could barely afford to keep the place decent looking, then the chance of a stable life for the woman was nowhere near reachable.

They seemed unaware of her exact age, mistaking that she had a reasonable number of years to go before they could boot her out the door. Mikasa felt grateful for that, even if it was a few measly years.

The main reason she's reluctant to leave this god awful hell revolved around her close relationships with the other kids. Mikasa sometimes saw them as her own children to take care of. Maybe, just maybe, she might get the chance to work here in exchange for hospitality, or at another child's services where it's half as decent as the current one she's staying at. So far, there weren't many choices at the moment.

"Mikasa? Oh Mikasaaaa," Sasha's excited voice echoed throughout the narrow hall outside the room they had to share.

"I'm in here," Mikasa called, swinging her legs over the half assed bed.

Sasha pushed the door wide open, showcasing the drawings they drew as kids on the walls outside their room.

"So I really need a favor from you," she pleaded, fluttering her big brown eyes.

"Am I your service dog now?" Mikasa said, raising an eyebrow.

"Pretty please? I know it's my turn to go grocery shopping, but I have a date."

Mikasa pulled her bitsie shoes from under the bed. "Who's your date?"

Sasha paled a little, seemingly regretting her excuse for not running her errands.

"I'll tell you when you get back."

"No, tell me now or I won't go," Mikasa insisted, slowing her movements.

Sasha looked pained as she opened her mouth, "It's Jean."

 _"What."_

"I'm sorry, it just happened!" the brunette began to blabber.

Mikasa finished putting on her shoes, and snatched the money for the food out of the other girl's hand none too nicely.

"Mikasa, come back!"

"Forget it, have fun stuffing him on Thanksgiving."

As Mikasa trudged down the streets of Underground avenue, she neared a man covered in filthy rags. She was barely a couple feet away, but could still pick up on his rancid smell. He was like a mirror image of her future self if she didn't get her shit together.

The hobo extended an arm out, a chipped teacup in his dirtied hand. He gave the cup a shake, the sound of change moving about; a silent plea for charity. Mikasa suspected he was a drug addict, a lot of them were, though she refused to take her anger out on the guy because of her social life. Sasha wasn't a bad person.

The girl stuffed her fist in her pocket, digging around for some spare change. She placed a few dollars in the man's porcelain dish, already regretting her decision. Her case managers definitely wouldn't approve.

Mikasa never remembered his face, nor did she think she would ever have to.


	2. Car Chase

Three Years Later:

* * *

Mikasa gently tugged a lock of tangled hair in front of her face in order to untangle it more easily. The action was not enough to distract her from a regretful memory that had occurred for what seemed like yesterday, but was far from a couple of hours. Much farther, indeed.

She'd completed high school with such great ease, if it weren't for cutting corners here and there. In college, things were much different when it came to the exposure of bad habits, such as plagiarism.

There had always been something missing from all those boring lectures about working your way to the top. Whatever happened to fucking your way in?

No college ever accepted her after that withering autumn afternoon, always rejecting her letters from then on. Oh what her life had become.

Mikasa flicked the fixed strands of hair to the side, where it fell in place, on her forehead. She released a huff of air. The black tendrils float in the humid air.

Soon, she would have to go onstage-to dance around a pole. The staff requested her presence often, which was more bad than good. Mikasa required the time to attend her self defense classes. Though she could barely afford them, living in a ghetto was dangerous, deadly even. The class helped.

A worn out woman wearing a feathery boa rushed in, a telephone in hold.

"This is for you," she claimed, "says they know you or somethin'."

Mikasa straightened her back, reaching for the phone as the manager left to attend to other things.

"Hello?"

To her surprise, a deep sensual voice greeted her ears, "Hello. Is this Mikasa Ackerman?"

An uneasy feeling curled in her stomach. "Do I know you?"

"You did once, but I haven't forgotten about you."

The grip on the device only tightened, as well as Mikasa's anger. "If this is a prank call, you're not funny," she admonished.

What a bunch a creeps.

"I can assure you-"

Mikasa stomped over to the receiver and slammed the phone down, roughly. She really needed to get onstage, at least then she could be eye to eye on who to avoid.

Five hours later, after roundhouse kicking a customer for touching her bottom, Mikasa was walking away from the cathouse, having been fired. There were better ways to earn money anyway.

She reached a building far from the forsaken workplace, where the walls were able to hide personas within thick shadows. Soliciting here provided a safe haven, or so she thought. The tired girl leaned against the dense surface, covering her face in her shaking hands. Chicago always felt cold, though it wasn't the frigid air that chilled her to the bone.

She recalled about giving away blood, imagined the sharp tip of the needle pricking her white skin. The cold hard cash meeting her palms in return.

Upon hearing a sudden noise, Mikasa retreated from the brick wall, her notions no longer intact with the merciless world.

Brisk, long legs in fishnets continued to strut forward, in the opposite direction of what Mikasa guessed was a vehicle. She prepared herself for a catcall, braced the muscles and contours of her body in case of a loud honk. To her short ended relief, the car stopped several feet ahead of her.

She let her gaze take in the type of car, a limousine to be precise. A man adorning ash blond hair jumped out, followed by a woman who's magenta hair was kept in two ruthless pigtails. They were dressed to the nines in sharp business suits, resembling high ranking CEOs. An outstanding contrast of the slums the pair had set foot on.

The two blocked Mikasa's path.

"Miss. Ackerman?" The ash blonde affirmed, taking off his shades, revealing flat gray irises.

"Yeah, that's me," she answered, preparing for an assault.

"I think you need to come with us."

"In your sick fantasies," the oriental spat, lifting her leg to deliver her second roundhouse kick of the night.

To her uttermost dismay, the blonde averted her kick, resulting in Mikasa stumbling backwards. She sent a calculated fist to his face, but the shorter woman threw her off balance by grabbing her other arm. Mikasa struggled out of her six inch stilettos, hating her choice of footwear by the passing second. If she could be free of the heels, the chance of taking these bozos would be possible. Such a plan was thrown down the drain, and before Mikasa could make a scene, she herself is thrown into the trunk of the car.

"LEMME OUT, LEMME OUT!" She shouted, beating her fists in position to the ceiling of the trunk.

Panic rose in her chest, breath becoming uneven. She did not stop yelling for what seemed like forever. An image of her biological family leaked into her mind, like mother like daughter. The state Mikasa was in only worsened.

When her voice became too painful to use, she tried her best to pry open the inside of the trunk. An exhausted but frenzy exhale left her mouth, worst case scenarios filling every nook and cranny of her head by the moment. She possessed no idea of how much time was ticking by.

It was when the car parked, did her senses return at full force. She heard footsteps, chuckles here and there. They grew closer, the sounds alerting Mikasa to jump out at them if given the chance. Her limbs were not tied, so the possibility of escape was not one in a million. She reached down to unbuckle the strap of her high heel, ready to use the sharp end as weapon.

The trunk flew ajar, showcasing an entirely different set of people who were dressed the same as the prior two.

"You'll never get away with this!" Mikasa snarled, aiming the pointy heel towards one of them, their carotid artery moments from being pierced.

Sculpted plastic met skin. The old looking male teetered back, clutching his neck. He bit his tongue, creating an even bigger mess. Mikas kicked her legs out of the vehicle, swinging a haywire punch towards another's throat.

She saw a flash of magenta and ash blonde tresses coming into view. Before they were able make a move on her, she grabbed the man whom she slugged in the neck. With a powerful shove, Mikasa used him as a shield to protect her from the rest of the attackers. Everyone expect her toppled to the ground. She fled towards where the chauffeur was getting out, smashing his head in the pavement after pulling him out of the interior.

Stepping in, she turned the key in ignition. The limo sprung to life, its engine revving excitedly. Mikasa twisted her head, pressing on the pedal in order to peel out of the large driveway. The butt of the vehicle ran into the trunk of a tree, jostling her body. She applied more force against the gas pedal, willing the car to cooperate.

Rubber burned against cement, resulting in tires squealing in protest. An escape route was spotted ahead, if she could pull off a clean exit, then hospitality would be reachable. As Mikasa zeros in on the closing gates, she jumped upon hearing a gunshot searing a part of the car. Multiple burning bullets were heard. She didn't dare slow down, if anything, the sound of bullets hitting metal only encouraged her.

Mikasa pulled into a highway, unmindful of the speed she's going at. After a short while, calmness washed over her senses languidly. No one was shooting at her, for now. She coughed, growing a bit unsettled by the sudden quietness. This well earned freedom had been too easy to get a hold of, much easier than discretely copying off of someone's test paper.

Watchful eyes glanced into the rear view mirror. Mikasa's breath caught deep in her throat upon spotting three sleek jeeps approaching her at an alarming rate. Mikasa smashed her foot against the lever, ignorant that a capitalistic car such as a limo was not meant to be operated so ruthlessly.

The jeeps glided all the way to the sides of the polished doors of the unlucky limousine. Mikasa hunched over the steering wheel in attempt to drive faster. She bared her teeth, unwilling to admit defeat just yet.

A sudden force came in contact with the door, rocketing Mikasa to the side while the second clunker hit the limo's flank in return. The third jeep rammed against the back roughly. A bullet burst a tire.

The long sedan she's in slowed down, resulting in a frustrated growl from the female. She banged her sweating palms on the leather of the manhandled wheel, road rage apparent. At least she possessed a good excuse, if not, then an actual reason.

An idea sprouted in her swirling thoughts. It might positively save her ass. Her toes pressed on the brake abruptly, causing the car to screech to hasty stop. At that exact millisecond, Mikasa realized that she forgot to strap on her seat belt.

The airbag faltered, she slammed in contact with breaking glass. The shards dug into her soft skin, tainting their apparent gleams in the pigment of dark red. Mikasa rolled out of the front window, landing on the street _hard._ She slowly stood up, clutching her side in agony. Blood spurted from her mouth, making her double over. Everything hurt.

She broke into a pitiful run, faltering by a lot as the enemy neared. Black dots filled her vision, dizzying her in the process. Her shins gave up on the weight of her body, and Mikasa met her great downfall by tripping over a stone.

During that existential position, she relived how far she's gotten in life, a flawed existence that she can care less about. This was fine, at least she'd die an action packed death. James Bond would have given her his blessings.

The last thing Mikasa saw are black, polished, shoes stopping in front of her. Then, her world darkened.


	3. Demon

Mikasa was brought into an entrance an extravagant mansion thrashing by at least two guards. She plowed her feet in a tiger felt on the marble floors, refusing to ascend forward.

She searched around, glancing up at the ceiling. Greek paintings of realistic, bare humans scatter the floral carved surface. An enormous, twinkling chandelier hung in the middle.

Warm pastel colors of pink illuminated the entire place. The foyer was completely covered in designer moveables, along with priceless paintings perched on furnished walls

A runway of red, velvety stairs awaited her arrival. Mikasa was shoved upon them, each step adding more to her anxiety.

"I can take it from here," a guard with a scar running from his bare head to his lip assured the ones withholding Mikasa.

"Are you sure?" They asked, the girl was a handful.

"Positive."

The brute rapped on a two door entrance in the wide hall before turning the crystalline knob. He pushed Mikasa in, closing the wooden slabs of polished redwood behind him.

Inside, a short statured man, though seemingly proud and regal, stood a respectable distance away from them.

She witnessed him take a lazy drag from the fat cigar in between his long, strong fingers. The thick smoke made every movement he did appear dramatic. He drunk in her disheveled appearance, and Mikasa unraveled, stripped from her body and soul by his stare.

The woman sucked in a shuddering gasp, stiffening all over.

She still searched for vileness—the same kind from the men who stole her in Chicago, but awe radiated down her spine. His black eyes were hardened, yet compassionate, human even.

The guard leaned down to her small ear. "Say hello, witch."

"I refuse," she muttered lowly.

No way in hell. She could care less if the billion dollar man her expected the world to grovel at his feet. Whatever sick activities he indulged in that willing women were hard to come by, she wanted no part of.

Her lips pursed together in blatant stubbornness.

A harsh push caused Mikasa to trip. Pain from the injuries she sustained earlier intensified. A small grunt left her mouth, barely audible.

"Then you will bow to him," the rugged voice behind her commanded.

"Never," she snapped, keeping her stance.

The captor grabbed her shoulders and bent them, forcing Mikasa into a struggling, painful bow. "Do it."

Red filled her vision. The urge to smash his ugly face in raged. She wished to backhand him, to shoot everyone in the room and commit property damage to the vases and paintings along the windowsills.

"Pinhead," she growled instead, hating the fact that rebellion was out of the question. All she could do was obey—for now.

"She doesn't have to bow," a somewhat familiar tone, laced in masculine authority, stilled the air.

Such sounds, reminded Mikasa of a razor's edge kissing her skin; a renewed memory of middle school clouding her vision. Despite her attempts to disobey, she bowed on her own. The sheer hum of the shorter male's vocals demanded obedience. Nothing less.

The pinhead scoffed. "If she does not wish to bow then she can grovel, for the way she acted earlier."

Her back snapped upright, set on showing them who's boss.

"I will do no such thing!" Mikasa said firmly, "you would react the way if you were in my shoes."

Whoever this enigma was, had his head cocked as if admiring a work of art: her outburst. His gaze trailed down the curves of her form without shame. The mess she'd made of herself was hard to look at, yet a certain beauty amplified the smudged eyeliner above her long lashes. The snarls of blueish black locks, and torn fabric.

He parted his full lips, eyes narrowing in slight annoyance, though not at Mikasa. "Perhaps. Or, you can leave because of the way you delivered her to me."

The harsh statement sliced through the air, killing the henchman's slack confidence.

"You, I thought-"

"You thought nothing and that may as well been the problem," the dark haired enigma began verbal attack, "I specifically told all of you to escort the girl, not fucking kidnap her."

Mikasa peered behind her, then at the other.

"I must've-"

"Leave. I don't wish to hear it."

"Right away, sir."

Oh no. Oh no. The ruffle of clothing belonging to the chastised guard filled Mikasa with a newfound panic: the idea of being in the same room with the unnerving shortie.

Once alone, a tense silence settled in. The only sound was the crackling of fire beside them, in the fireplace. He advanced, prowling not far from the oriental.

A feeling of vulnerability flickered across her face for a long minute, unsure of what to do next, but still.

He puffed the cigar, tilting his head to the side so the smoke wouldn't grace her features. She noticed his plain, but clean, manicured nails reflecting a blurred mirror image of the fire.

"You look like shit," his baritone words hit her ears, throwing Mikasa off guard.

Recognition sets in, her mind deciphering the boldly stated comment. Fists clenched in apprehension, eager to do damage. She was ready to slap the cancer stick out of his grasp, to stomp it into the wooden floor and then do the same to his clothed neck. If it weren't for the predicted consequences that would follow.

Instead, she swallowed thickly. "You would too, if you've been what I just went through."

"Don't let shitty transportation get in the way of us, Mikasa," came the clipped reply, "I have plans for us, and others have suffered worse than what you've been through under my command."

"After the way your henchmen treated me, I refuse to participate in any relations with you!" Mikasa rebutted, angered at how easily he brushed aside her recent traumas,"it shouldn't matter what people have dealt with. Pain is pain!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

The guy treaded closer, his scent of english cigarettes wafting her senses, much like the expensive perfume he sprayed on this morning. She inhaled a whiff of coconut oil mixed in with lime. Sandalwood was apparent as well.

A bit distracted by the pleasant smell, Mikasa watched too late when his hand reached out to trail the side of her shoulder. His fingertips lightly brushed against a bruise that stood out the most.

"You can at least allow my so called 'henchmen' to treat your injuries."

"I am of no need of your assistance," she declared, "besides, why should I trust a kidnapper, much less a stranger?"

"I am no stranger."

"Then you would have no reason to keep your name from me, stranger," she sneers at the last part.

His powerful shoulders tensed at the name she's addressed him, not that it keeps him from answering.

"You aren't wrong," he breathed at last, "...The name's Levi."

The cigarette died out at the last syllable rolling off his tongue. So his name was Levi? It suited him, she concluded, then internally shook her head from the fact.

Stay, focused.

This Levi, twisted his back on her, walking back to his wooden desk. He crushed the butt of the ash filled stick into an ash tray. Mikasa thought about taking off her remaining heel, and stabbing him from behind as a cheap surprise attack.

He turned around, face guarded too well for his own good.

"I can't let you leave, not looking like that," he sighed.

"I'll be fine."

"Tch. No, you won't."

No? Without really putting much common sense into it, Mikasa unsheathed her aching foot from her stiletto. She flung the shoe in one precise flick, the item just barely grazing Levi in the face. He dodged in time, caught off guard in genuine surprise.

"Jeezus christ…"

She attempted to make a run for the doors, touching the handle when suddenly, dizziness hit her like a tidal wave. Weakened by the car incident, Mikasa was no position to make another escape.

Strong, but leans arms constricted around her waist, preventing her fall. She rolled her head on his chest, fighting to keep consciousness in her morbid state. As he shifted her into a comfortable hold, Mikasa pries off his hands but to no avail.

"I try to help you, and you push away?" he questioned, the weight of his stare boring in her.

"I wouldn't have needed any help, if you and your idiots had left me alone in the first place," she retorted.

"Like hell."

"I can walk, unhold me!"

"Who the fuck talks like that?"

"Preferably someone who doesn't abduct people!"

The opposite happened. He adjusted her person in his limbs, hooking a wrist beneath her skinned knees. His other arm cradled her back. She was too drained to fight him, the warmth his body heat provided is a begrudging heaven.

Mikasa realized then, that heaven shouldn't be a grudge, not at all. One cannot leave though, so it may as well been a high class prison. Like this villa.

Levi strode out of the room, kicking the door closed behind them. She formed the mistake of looking at him again, because a cut on his temple drawed her attention.

Good, she told the remains her conscience. Wounding him was supposed to be the idea.

"What?" he grunted, her staring taking an interest in him.

Mikasa blinked, then narrowed her eyebrows. "Nothing."

"Okay."

At an infirmary, a young man greeted their unpredicted arrival. He wore an expression of curiosity upon seeing the black haired guest, followed by concern for her well being.

"Welcome, uh, Melissa?" he addressed rather poorly, "call me Moblit, if you can."

"Hi, and its Mikasa not fucking Melissa," Levi spoke for her.

He placed Mikasa on a plush medical bed. The doctor outstretched an arm, silently asking to shake hands.

She glared. He recoiled in response.

"She's shy," Levi offered.

"Shut up," she threatened.

"No, you shut up," he mirrored.

Mikasa sprung up, indignation evident in her body language. "Do you wanna fucking go, mate?"

"Where, when and how?"

"Hell, now, and with a duel."

"Ladies, are you done?" The doc drawled, placing a hand on his hip.

When the two didn't respond he pulled them apart by their ears, tugging harshly.

"Ow-."

"Hey!"

Levi straightened his cravat whilst she took a seat once more. The doctor prepared a syringe, walking near Mikasa.

"What is that?" she demanded, inching away.

"It will numb the pain."

"You are not sticking that in me."

"I gotta. You have multiple wounds that are in need of stitching," he explained.

"The only thing that needs stitching is your stupid little mouth," Mikasa shouted, close to snapping in half.

The physician glanced at levi, who nodded.

Quick as a light, the shorter man bent her arms behind her backbone, kneeling Mikasa to the black and white tiles. He fisted her hair, crushing her skull against the floor. His lower front pressed hard on her backside. Thrashing on her part occurred.

"I will not be a victim anymore!" She protested.

Moblit squatted in front of the hotheaded female, needle squirting.

"This is the only pain you will face, nothing more," he promised

Mikasa shut her eyes, imagining that she was sacrificing blood for cash since the mere fantasy was better than than the actual thing. A sharp sting spread on her bicep, then all at once, it's gone.

She released a shuddering heave, relieved, but not willing to agree with Moblit's promise. He's not wrong, her skin started to numb in minutes.

The restraint Levi kept on her, weakened. She didn't remember getting on the cot, or the painless, pretty stitches etched on her cuts.

For what felt like an eternity, the drugs wore off. Moblit muttered something about side effects, leaving for a while to get more bandaids.

She faintly acknowledged Levi's far fetched order to open her mouth, then his thumb pushing her upper teeth upwards. A bland pill touched her unfeeling tongue, accompanied by water. Mikasa gulped softly, her leaden pools of black ensnaring Levi's gaze as he patiently waited for her to finish drinking. She saw how ruffled he appeared compared to hours beforehand.

Instantly, she was guided further down to Earth. By blinking, Mikasa focused in on her surroundings.

"How are you feeling?" Levi questioned.

"I don't know," she blurted.

"Are you in pain?"

"I don't thinks so…"

"I'm asking because I just fed you a painkiller," Levi confided, "and want to know if you need another."

"I need a taxi."

He looked up. "What?"

Though not as extreme, remains of fury lurked within her tired features.

"I hope you don't think that just because you played doctor means I'm gonna play your sick games," she continued.

"I never did."

She rose, swaying. "I want to go home, now."

"I'll have someone take you."

"Where? In the trunk of a car?"

"Mikasa…"

"Enough," she stressed, "you have no right to say my title like that. I also hope you don't think I'm not going to get the FBI involved."

At this, Levi grew self assured. "Try it. I practically own them."

"The government owns them," she corrected him.

"Heh, cute," Levi deadpanned, "how about I write you a check for what you went through?"

"You can't bribe me."

"How does one hundred thousand dollars sound?"

Mikasa's mouth parted, rendered speechless.

"...three hundred thousand and the taxi."

Levi grimaced. "Two hundred thousand and, I drive you myself."

"It's a deal." She gave in, feeling cheated.

He smirked, pleased with himself, and their bargain. Moblit entered, bandages in his loose grip. He handed some to Mikasa before turning to Levi.

"You want one too?" The dishwater blonde queried, "your temple is, uh, ya know."

Levi wordlessly tooks the aids. "Thank you, Moblit."

He lead the way out, Mikasa close behind. She tried, really tried not to notice his attired shoulder blades. The trimmed part of his nape was fuzzy, nice to the touch.

And then there's his ass.

Levi peered back. "I was thinking you could take a shower first. A maid can bring you new clothes."

"I don't want to stay here more than I have to," Mikasa sniped.

"I don't want your filth in my car," he countered back.

"Then get me a taxi."

"This again? I don't want your filth there, or anywhere else for that matter," he rambled, "the mere thought disgusts me. Imagine those germs crawling…"

So not only was he evil, but a sucker for hygiene. Wonderful.

"Mikasa."

She snapped out of it. "Huh?"

"This is Mina," Levi introduced her to a baby faced girl whose tresses were tied in loose ponytails, "she'll show to a guest room, where you can shower. I'll wait in the lounge."

The servant wore a french maid uniform. Mikasa was instantly reminded of a similar costume that an employee wore at her stripper job.

"Hello, and welcome," Mina chirped, "please, follow me."

Convinced by her kindness, she complied. The women walked in the opposing direction of Levi, who strode the other way. Mikasa couldn't help it. She spared a glance at him.

Mina pulled the knob of a door. "Ring the bell on the night stand if you need anything," she advised, "I'll be right back with some clothes."

Mikasa stalked inside. Like the rest of the mansion, everything looked like a queen's castle. Annoyed, she headed for the bathroom where it was no different either.

She twisted the shower's left handle, summoning spirals of scorching water. While waiting for the temperature to accommodate, Mikasa freed herself of her ruined rags. She was careful not to agitate her sutures when stepping in.

Steam clouds the entire restroom. Mikasa doused her hair in whatever high end salon brand of shampoo she could get ahold of through the fog. She rinsed, pretending the blood seeping down the drain was merely residue.

The water ceased by her physical command. Mikasa groped for a towel, drying her skin. She folded the material around her front and back.

In the bedroom, a neatly folded outfit awaits. She picked up a pressed sweater, grateful for the modesty put into the choice of style. Shrugging it on, Mikasa reached for a skirt. She slipped on nude pointed flats, lastly.

At the bureau, a comb beckoned her to comb her knots. She inspected her appearance in the wide mirror, not liking what she saw. A worn out, abused doll leered at her.

Mikasa wrapped her fingers around a perfume bottle, squirting some on. A knock on the entrance startles her. The mini crystalline jug slips from her grasp, crashing into smithereens on luxurious marble.

She crouches, frantically sweeping the glass under a collector's praying mat; barely making it as Mina invites her presence in.

Mikasa finished, hiding her trembling digits behind her back.

Mina tilted her head, curious. "Are you okay? I thought I heard a sound."

Mikasa shrugged, not wishing to elaborate. "I'm fine."

"...Alright. Well, I forgot to ask; did you want your clothes cleaned, mended and mailed or disposed of?"

Levi would probably want them if she left the clothes, Mikasa knew that much.

"I don't care," she answered at last.

"No problem, Sir Levi is waiting for you."

"Thank you, for everything"

"A pleasure, pumpkin."

The taller woman slipped past, lightly jogging ahead. Levi was sitting cross legged on a regal couch, head reversed in boredom. His arms rested on the the top frame, fingers tapping on the armrest. He shifted slightly, sensing another person.

"Took you long enough, brat," he groaned, standing up.

"Judging by your obsession with hygiene, I assume that you would take longer," Mikasa assumed.

"And then without realizing it, you make an ass out of you and me," he flings in response.

She watched him soothe out the wrinkles of his suit, the clean freak.

"Let's go, here's your check."

Levi fished a check out of his slacks, presenting Mikasa a gray piece of paper. She pocketed the sheet, still feeling unsatisfied.

They walked out. Dawn was revealing the skies bright hues. The sun was peaking, yet a chill flowed by.

A white sports mobile gleamed under the golden light of apparent sunshine. Levi did something unexpected: he opened the car's door for her.

Stunned, Mikasa was immobile.

Levi quirked a brow. "Are you getting in, or do you want to stay?"

"I'm getting in, chill."

In the vehicle, the provided heat relaxed her tensed muscles. Levi played on some tunes, deepening the trance Mikasa was falling in.

"Where do you live?"

"You don't know where I live?"

"I understand privacy," Levi grated.

"As if I'm telling you. Drop me off the nearest convenience store in Chicago, Chillingworth street."

He refrained from arguing. Mikasa drifted in and out of consciousness as the driver operated the convertible. The quiet music lulled her.

For what felt like an hour, Levi finally peeled into a gas station where she used to loiter in. "We're here."

She scooted upright, sore.

"The money isn't going to stop me from reporting you," Mikasa's dry warning alerted him.

"You have fun with that," he scoffed, unworried.

Stupid girl. She slammed the doorway, cracking the glass in the act. Levi admired her retreating figure. The rays of the sun created a blinding shine on her dark crown.

In a flutter of an eye, Mikasa Ackerman resembled a fallen angel.


End file.
